I Don't Smile
by Xx.WildAtHeart.xX
Summary: I have one rule. One rule I will never, ever break. That is all I ask. I didn't used to be so harsh, so cold. I used to smile, to laugh. But people change, and things you don't want to happen, do. It isn't until now, though, do I realise you've got to get up and fight. Running away doesn't work for everything, especially things that are destined to be.
1. A Single Searing Tear

**I**DON'T**SMILE**

* * *

-|THEN|-

**They cough,** their eyes clenched shut in fear. A single searing tear trails down their left cheek, burning like blazing, blistering fire. They choke, paralyzed by the sheer weight of the mangled metal. Their heartbeat accelerates, thundering and thundering in their ears. It thumps against their chest, gaining velocity with every pound of their heart.

- | N O W |-

I gasp, bolting upright. Beeps scream around me—I ignore them, paralyzed with fear as I watch the images surge through my mind. I grip the starched sheets, my nails digging in my skin as I swallow. I feel feverish, faint. I shiver, my bones rattling as I sink back on my pillow, submitting myself to the nightmare in my mind.

I'm remembering it. Every single minuscule detail.

I attempt to breathe, to regulate my gasps. But I fail. I crash back down. Hurtle towards my death. They say life flashes past your mind when you die, it doesn't. It goes slow, mockingly. Because not everyone dies—no—they survive.

-|THEN|-

They try to shift, alter their position just slightly. They fail. Immobilized with not just fear, but pain—anger. It's only their heart beating in that truck. Only their ragged breathing sounding in the darkness. A still body lays crushed beside them. They can't do anything, they can't try to change that. They feel dead too.

They don't cry, they don't scream—they are numb. Aghast. They cannot comprehend, understand. So they sit, quiet, detached. Unmoving.

The ashes—extinguished, lay still amongst the wreck. Dead. No sounds echo in the night. It's just them. No full moon. No shining stars. Nothing. Just their shallow breathing and their thrashing heart piercing the silence.

They close their eyes, shutting themselves off from the harsh nightmare—reality.

- | N O W | -

I don't open my eyes this time. Instead, like before, I swallow. Swallow back my tears. Swallow back my screams. It's all I can do to keep quiet. What right do I have to scream, to cry, when my mother lays dead? She can't scream, nor cry. I didn't die like she did. I'm the one that deserves to die.

Swallow. Breathe. Endure. Swallow. Breathe. Endure—my rules. Never cry—I don't deserve to cry.

-|THEN|-

No sound. No movement. Silence. Piercing, painful silence.

Nothing moves. Nothing sounds. Dead. Just dead.

But someone doesn't want to die. They're scared. They let out a cry of pain. Distress. Despair. But they've seen worst—they're sure of it. They've felt worst—they must have. They kick like crazy. Cry in anguish. Metal clangs, echoing painfully in they're ears.

Not far off, someone tenses. They know that sound. They feel their pain.

They kick again. Cry again.

Their attempt to swallow fails. They scream. They're scared too.

- | N O W | -

Is it possible for time to alter? To stop? To slow? To quicken? Maybe not in the real world—but in a dream—a nightmare? Maybe it's possible there? Does time ever retreat? Is that what our memories are? Seeing the past in a single snapshot—a memory?

Do memories come with emotions? Thoughts? Is that why the horrific, scarring ones are called nightmares?

Have you ever wondered if our entire life is just a dream and that one day, we'll wake up?

-|THEN|-

The horse continues to thrash wildly against the letter box red tinted metal, whilst the girl sits silent. Like a ghost in the night.

**Dead**.


	2. Unwanted Visitors

******-|**I Don't Smile _continues_** |-**

**********-| N O W ****| -**

**I bite my lip** as my bare feet touch down on the ice-cold ground, hard under my dry skin. Gripping the rail of my bed, I steady myself, my knuckles alabaster. A nurse scurries over, placing a gentle hand on the small of my back, holding me there. I don't say anything, bar one word.

"Socks." My throat still feels like sandpaper. Dry, scratchy. She nods, ensuring I'm stable before rushing away. Why is everything so silent, so starched, so white? Why does everything have to be so clinical? It's draining me. I feel more and more exhausted every day. Everything's a strain, a struggle. I feel like giving up. But I can't, that's not fair on everyone else.

The doors swings and the nurse scuttles in. I lift my eyes before dropping them again. I don't say anything as she helps me put the soft material over my numb feet. I have no idea where she found them. I don't ask. I don't care. They're _socks_. I don't do small talk—it's overrated. She smiles a little, trying to force one from me. I don't move. My features remain muted. She sighs to herself and scampers off. I'm left—once again, alone.

The clock ticks above me, marking every passing minute. I study the larger hand, using it as a distraction. One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five. Methodical. One, two, three, four, five. Constant. One, two, three—

The doors swing again and Lou bursts through. I sink down in the starched sheets, seeking comfort. I'd been too immersed in distracting myself, I hadn't noticed the little hand gaining on seven. _Visiting time._

"Amy."

I don't move. I don't smile.

She sits. I stare. She fidgets, uncomfortable, placing her bag on the ground.

"Are you feeling better?" She asks tentatively, trying to make me speak.

I stare straight ahead, my nails digging in my skin.

"We miss you." She says quietly.

I miss Mom too. I don't say that though.

"The doctor said you'll be discharged soon." She says, almost reassuring herself. How clinical does that sound? Not 'you'll be home', but 'you'll be discharged'. It sounds so... impersonal. She's right, it won't be home anymore. Not now. Not ever.

My heart aches just thinking about the ranch and the one person missing. What will I do when I get out? Will it ever go back to normal? No.

Everything is going to be different.

"There's a new stable hand coming." She tells me, but I don't listen.

What about Heartland? We don't have Mom anymore. I dig my nails further in my skin, ignoring the sharp pain. How can we keep Heartland going? It's impossible. It'll never work. The one thing Mom left will be gone. Dead—

"Mom hired him." She adds. My head shoots up. But still, I don't utter a word. Her eyes flicker to mine and she smiles a tiny bit. She finally has my attention for the first time in weeks. That's all though, it's not like she's one the lottery. "He's on probation."

I frown. He's done wrong? I turn my head and resume my staring. Lou sighs, shifting in her seat, about to leave when the doors swing once again. The third time this morning.

The doctor walks towards me, plucking the clipboard from its holder. He nods at Lou. She smiles weakly. I have to remind myself sometimes, I'm not the only one who lost my mom. He lifts his head slowly to look directly at me. I do not meet his gaze.

"Morning, Amy." He says cheerfully, like there's nothing wrong at all. I flinch at his obvious happiness but otherwise remain motionless. He drops his head again, scanning through my notes. "You can go home tomorrow." _Home. _Not home.

I continue to stare at nothing. The white wall now engraved in my mind. I don't care. He sighs, the creases of his eyes showing in my peripheral vision. After a moment though, they're gone. He forces a smile and looks to Lou. "Could you possibly fill out the papers?"

She nods, glancing at me before rising. She squeezes my hand, "Bye, Amy." She says. "I'll see you soon." And she's gone. The doctor follows her out of the swinging doors, the clipboard having been returned to its rightful position.

I sink further in my white sheets, shuttering my eyes. For now: seeking the darkness.

**-|THEN|-**

Metal rings. Rain thrashes down, pelting off the crushed remains. They kick and cry in agony, trying in vain to be heard.

There are still no lights, no life, just the pitch black sky and the harsh, hailing winds. A young girl screams in anguish, pushing, and pushing against the cold, heartless, metal.

No one hears them. They fall quiet, and she breaks down in sobs, yelling every so often. All her cries, all of his, fall on death ears. They are alone.

Together_:_ yet so **alone**.

* * *

Nurse's review of this chapter: _Poor girl._


	3. Discharged

******-|**I Don't Smile _continues_** |-**

**I shuffle,** one foot in front of the other. Repeat. One, two. One, two. One, two. My gait methodical and stiff, I make my way over to the end wall. My white wall. I turn, and repeat. I've been doing this for well over an hour now. Lou is due in twenty minutes; I'm being discharged. _Great_.

Someone knocks but I keep my eyes pinned to the floor. They pause for a mere second before bursting in anyway. It's the doctor. He has that big Cheshire grin on again that makes me sick. I don't look up, stationary.

"Morning." He chimes. I grunt in reply, no time for pleasantries, and start to move my way towards the little bed. One, two. One, two. I reach it and sit on the edge. I finally lift my gaze to him, looking at him expectantly. My expression only saying one thing: _Why is he wasting my time?_

He fumbles around with his clipboard, twirling the pen between his fingers. "You're going home today."

_I know_. I don't say that though. No point.

I drop my gaze again, tensing as he draws closer. This is my space. He's invading it. "I've just got to check your vitals, then you're free to go." He tells me in that same sing song voice.

_I'm fine. _I feel like saying, but instead I press my lips firmly together and stay silent. He hovers over me, playing around with his sterilised, ice cold equipment, sending shivers down my spine. He _ums _and _ahs _to himself every so often, ticking of various things on his little clipboard with his swirly black fountain pen. I stare straight ahead, deeming everything else uninteresting after my little analysis.

Ten minutes later, he finally finishes. He grins down at me, "Perfectly sound."

I make some sort of grunting noise again, continuing to stare into space. I'm going to miss my little white wall. His smile falters and I nearly smirk. I don't though, I stop myself—I don't smile.

"Well," he shifts uncomfortably, "your sister will be here soon." He moves away from me, pushing the clipboard back in place, having to play with it a bit before it falls properly in its spot. "I'll go get your papers." He says quickly, and before I can even register it, he's gone.

I sit, playing with the hem of my shirt, watching the minutes go by. As the clock marks ten minutes, I pull myself from my reverie and busy myself with my case. Fumbling around, I pack the final things before I sit back down on the little white bed and wait. Nothing like waiting for the time to pass.

The doors finally swing open, and a smiling Lou is revealed. "Amy!" She gushes, encasing me in a stiff hug; partly because I don't choose to cooperate. She's a bit off for a second before she pulls herself together and smiles brightly again. "You got your stuff?!" Her happy mood is back in place as she spots the little case in the corner. "Great!" She chimes, even though I didn't utter a single word. She makes her way to the case and scoops it up, her smile becoming brighter and more false by the second—I chose not to comment.

She looks at me expectantly and my mind goes blank for a minute before I blink. "Come on then!" She smiles falsely—too falsely. I suddenly understand and rise to my feet, shuffling behind her as she makes her way out the hospital. I keep my head down and my mind blank, just following her as we leave the place that holds my little white wall. Some of the nurses offer a goodbye, but it's just white noise. From my peripheral vision I see Lou shoot them apologetic glances as they fall back into the background.

As we make our way through the large glass doors, I'm still blank, unthinking as I fall in my seat in the back of Lou's car. She glances worriedly at me but I ignore her, closing my eyes and resting my head against the glass.

The car rattles beneath me, and I soon discover my attempts at sleep are futile. I sigh, pressing my head against the cold glass, watching the light drizzle of rain cascade down the window. The grey sky rumbles ahead and I try my best to ignore it.

The car finally stills and I look up, unmoving as Lou yanks open the door. "Come on, Amy." She sighs, creases forming on her forehead. I weaken slightly, reminding myself once again that I'm not the only one. "Please at least try." She says quietly.

I nod, I can try—it doesn't mean I'll succeed.

I follow her up the porch steps and in through the door. There before me stand three people. One of which I have no interest in seeing.

Grandpa smiles weakly, "Welcome home, Amy."

I try to smile, for him, but it comes out as a grimace. It appears I can't even smile if I want too. Mallory nods besides him, "Yeah, great to see you're better, Amy." Mallory says—a girl who constantly switches from an optimist to a pessimist. My gaze moves to the third person. I stiffen.

Lou shuffles to my side, "Amy, this is Ty—Ty Borden." She gestures to the young boy across from me. "The new stable hand." I blink, frozen for a single second before I run. Like I said, I have no interest in seeing him. Just seeing him in my house, my mom's house, made me sick. We don't _need_ him. More importantly, I don't need him.

I head straight for the barn, only slowing once my feet start to echo against the concrete. The horses throw their heads up, turning to me in greeting. I say hello one by one, taking my time with every single horse. I think a part of me is stalling, stalling the inevitable. I've got to go back in at some point. Just not right now. Not while he's still in there.

I'm on my fourth horse when footsteps sound from the aisle. I lift my head, feeling sick when I see him. _He shouldn't be here._ He scoops up a stray water bucket, making his way to the back of the barn. I grit my teeth and storm out my current stall towards him, startling him in the process. I _nearly_ smirk—only nearly though.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" I say through gritted teeth, my arms pressed at my sides, the only thing preventing me from slapping him right here on the spot.

He looks taken back, I don't care. "Whoa! I was only trying to help!" I don't think he realises what he's just gone and done. I clench my fists, grit my teeth and rise to my full height, making myself inches away from his face. Making it loud and clear I spit out every single word as if it was venom. It may as well be for all I care.

"We. Don't. Need. Help." I spit, angered by his sheer presence. I look him up and down before lifting my eyes once again, disgusted. "Especially. Not. Your's." And with that, I storm away; not wanting to see him _ever _again. The bucket clangs to the floor but I don't care. Not anymore.

Who does he think he is? He has no right to be here.

Especially not _now_. Not after I lose the one person I truly cared about.

I wasn't always this harsh, this cold. But times change, people change.

Nothing stays the same forever. That's not how life works. I just wish it didn't happen to me.

My mom didn't deserve to **die.**


	4. My Meadow

******-| **I Don't Smile _con__tinues_** |-**

**I tear at the bread,** chewing methodically as I stare into space. Everyone hovers around me, worried expressions on their tired features. I ignore them, trying to push the thought of how rude I'm being away. Lou finally sighs, slipping in the chair opposite me. I stare right past her, not allowing myself to meet her gaze. She exchanges a glance with Grandpa before lowering her eyes back to me. It's like she's musing over something, stewing over whether to tell me or not.

My eyes flicker to hers for a mere second and I suddenly feel sick. I'm not capable of containing all my emotions, let alone her's. It's like being hit by a bus. I feel numb.

My chair scrapes on the floor as I stand, rushing out through the door, pinching my nose and clenching my eyes shut. I can't do this anymore. I just can't.

I keep walking, my gait stiff but hurried none the less. I don't have to check to see if anyone's following me or not. I know no one is. I blink, washing away the image of Lou crying. Something I know for sure she is doing. I keep forgetting I'm not exactly the only one. I feel selfish, horrid. But I can't change that. It's like I'm on auto pilot, everything I do is calculated and stiff. My mind is elsewhere, having been left without control long ago.

I soon break into a run, hastily running through the trees. By the time I reach the meadow I have tears streaming down my face, my eyes red and blotchy. As I break through the trees into the small meadow, I crumble, falling to my knees and clutching at the grass. I curl up into a ball, crying myself dry. I scream, I yell. I let out everything I've bottled up for so long, my throat wearing hoarse and scratchy.

"Why me!?" I rage, my hands curling into fists. "She didn't have to die!" I grip the sprouts of grass, curling up in a fetal position, sobbing and sobbing. I stay like that for ages, crying myself unconscious.

Hours later, someone finds me, curled up in my meadow, with red tear strained eyes and blotchy cheeks. They scoop me up and hold me tight to their chest. I don't protest; feeling too weak, too numb. Instead, I snuggle further in their hold, breathing in their scent. Homely and warm. I slip into a dreamless sleep, clutching at their top, the material soft under my fingers. My ear directly near their heart, I will myself to the sleep with the gentle, methodic thudding. They pull me closer, hugging me so gently I feel at home for the first time in weeks. As they trudge their way through the dark forest under the cover of night, I hold on like they're my life line. Because, truth is, who ever they are, where ever they come from, they are. For the first time in a long time, I feel safe. I like safe.

I fall asleep in their arms, something inside of me screaming never let go. I try to quell the thought and enjoy it while I can. And for the first time since the accident, I don't dream of the past and that wretched car crash, instead of the comfort of my mysterious saviour, their gentle hold and beautiful **homely** scent.

* * *

Her mysterious saviour's review on this chapter: _Silly girl..._


	5. Ghostly Familar

******-|**I Don't Smile _continues_** |-**

**I blink,** sitting up with a start. The light's flooding in through the gaps in the curtain, filling the room with a disco ball effect. I squint, my brain fuzzing in a frenzy as it tries to comprehend how I ended up in bed. I shake my head of my whirring thoughts, swinging my legs off the bed. Walking over to the bathroom, I take in my face in the mirror. My eyes are still red, my skin still blotchy and dry. It looks like... it looks like I've been crying? But when? And why?

Suddenly everything comes flooding back and I grip the sink to steady myself. I take a sharp breath, my eyes clenching shut as I try to quell the pain in my throat. Still hoarse and dry. I was screaming—raging. I was crying—sobbing. But someone found me? Who? They must have known me—why else would they have known to bring me back here?

_Safe. _It's like a faint whisper in my mind, flooding my entire being with warmth. I grip the sink once again, harder this time. I blink again, trying in vain to push away the feeling of being in their arms. I yank the brush through my hair, scraping it back in a ponytail. Trying to busy myself, to convince myself I don't care. _I don't care. I don't care. I don't care._ That is my motto now—my rules. _I don't care. I don't smile._

I climb in the shower, pushing the tap to hot—scorching hot. I try to ignore the burning sensation, but finally give into it, knowing it will push away my whirlpool of thoughts. Steam clouds around me, taking away my sight. It soon becomes too hot and some part of me that still has a tiny bit of common sense tells me to turn it down. I do. I stand there until the water runs cold, before stepping out and wrapping a towel securely around me, encasing my quivering body in its warmth. I shiver, the ice cold water haven frozen me to the bone.

I pull on my clothes and follow my usual routine. I thud down the stairs, open the fridge, and grab the carton with the bright orange image plastered to its side. I pull down a glass from the cabinet and proceed to pour the bitter liquid into my glass. I stare at nothing, unthinking, before lifting the cold glass to my lips and sipping tentatively. Although, today isn't like any other day, today hasn't been fitted to my usual routine. No, I'm not prepared, not busied, when _he _walks in. So, I improvise.

I bring the glass down on the work top with a loud thump and grit my teeth. He walks my way, wary and careful. This, for obvious reasons, angers me more. My hands ball into fists, my sharp nails digging in my skin.

"What are _you_ doing in _this _kitchen?" I spit out the words just like before, emphasising every word. He freezes, refusing to make eye contact. I feel like screaming, _Answer me! _But I don't. It's strange, weird even, my body, apart from those few short words, doesn't seem to want to respond to anything my brain tells it. I know this sounds absurd, but it's like it knows something I most certainly don't. I push the thought away and continue to stare at his lowered head. He picks up his hat and—... Walks out?

I blink. I don't understand? The screen door clicks open again and I drop my head. It's Lou. "Amy?"

I pour the orange liquid down the drain and grab my boots before walking straight past her, out the door. It's harsh, I know. It's killing me, too. I just can't talk—not anymore.

I kick the dirt with the toe of my shoe, gnawing at my lower lip as I walk down the drive. I head for the paddocks, my pace steady and methodical. My arms drop to my sides, swinging a little as I walk. I squint, trying to make out the dots dotted across the horizon. From a way off, a horse lets out a _neigh_, something that a couple of months ago, would have made me smile. Not today. Not now. No—my lips are pressed in a thin line, my eyes pinned on nothing in particular.

I reach the fence, lifting my arms to rest on the worn wood, trailing my finger subconsciously across the patterns engraved in the old fence. The sun's to my east, rising from the rocky scape. I tap my foot repeatedly against the ground, biting down on my lip as I search. The sun's glare distracts me, but I try my best to ignore its emanating rays that obscure my vision, and concentrate on squinting across the landscape.

I never find what I am looking for, and I force myself to give up and turn back. But I as I go to turn, I freeze. Determined, I squint again, telling myself I just missed it. Of course they're there. Out in the paddocks, playing with the horses. They must be. I just missed it, that's all.

A truck rattles down the driveway, gravel flying wildly in its wake. I try to ignore it and focus on my search. Something thrashes violently at metal and I freeze, my breath hitching in my throat. I know that sound. They kick again and someone yells. Anger boils inside of me and I swing around, my hands balling into fists. A large horse trailer sits in the driveway, Scott Cardinal standing besides the metal object, a pained look on his face.

I frown, all anger extinguished, and let my eyes wander over the scene. Lou is watching the scene a little way off, her jacket pulled tight around her as she shivers in the cold, her breaths coming out as eerie billows. Grandpa's beside her, a tired look etched on his features. A queasy feeling swells in the pit of my stomach, making me feel slightly nauseous as I watch the scene before me. I try to quell the feeling and focus on the big metal box. Something thrashes recklessly again, no one moves.

After a painful silence, they thrash again and I flinch, digging my nails in my skin to divert the pain. Scott pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a deep breath, mumbling something I can't hear under his breath. He walks towards the trailer, lifting his quivering hand to the latch. His obvious nervousness arises the same queasy feeling inside of me, so I follow his idea and take a deep breath. The strange eerie feeling fails to leave me, but I push past it and force myself to watch.

He lowers the ramp ever so slowly, the metal grating in protest. He shakily takes the lead rope, heaving another deep breath. The horse thrashes again and he darts out the way, dropping the lead rope in the process. They've positioned the trailer at the entrance of the round pen, so at this precise moment, Scott is stuck behind a fence with a potentially lethal creature. I grit my teeth, it's not like to me to call horses _creatures._ Not even in my current harsh state of mind.

I watch as Scott takes one last glance at the horse before clambering up the fence. I have to stop myself from screaming _wimp _as I watch him land with a thud on the other side of the pen. The horse thunders down the ramp, the metal clanging beneath its hoofs. Through the fence, I watch as he canters around the pen, his haunches rippling with every stride. Scott, having miraculously recovered, walks shakily towards the round pen. It takes me way too long to figure out what's in his hand.

Before I know it, I've thrown myself over the fence and've rushed towards the center. I faintly hear both my scream of anger and the other's terrified one's around me as I stand paralyzed with fear, agape as the jet black horse rears before me, his eyes white and his nostrils flared. I don't scream again, instead I stand motionless as he rears, his powerful legs crashing down in front of me. I stop breathing as realisation dawns and a single thought whirls like a demon through my mind. _Yeah, I recognise you, too._ It's not until now, that my brain finally clicks into motion. A little too late, if you ask me.

I stumble, fumbling uselessly backwards. My legs tangle beneath me, and I crash to the ground. As I fall, my eyes dart to a lone figure in the barn doorway. They're just watching, a mere silhouette to me. Somewhere around me, a car's light flashes, momentarily lighting up the figure. Our eyes lock for single moment, but then, a mere moment later, the world's taken away, and my head hits the remorseless ground, and I become cold, the world black, a dark, eerie black. Everything is still, lifeless, nothing but two eyes lighting my world. I lay there unconscious, the queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach finally quelled. In my mind, my lips lift into a miniscule smile as I stare at the memory.

I smile not only because of the haunting familiarity, but because these captivating eyes, you see, they are green—a beautiful, beautiful, **green**.


	6. Fragment Of Hope

-|**I Don't Smile** _continues_ |-

**I** **trail** **my finger** over the dry ground, the rubble rough to touch. My throat feels scratchy, parched. I swallow, digging my nails in the sand like ground. Dust billows over the rubble, creating a small cloud of murky yellow. I shift my leg, pulling my knee up so it's slightly bent. I'm yet to open my eyes, worried as to what I will see. My ears twitch, tuning in.

I can hear clanging of metal, though not like earlier with the horse trailer, more like the sound of a water trough. It isn't as harsh, as fierce, instead, accidental. I mash my lips together, chewing on my bottom lip. My head feels sore and tender, throbbing slightly as I lay here. I refuse to move and instead, turn my attention to prising my eyes open. They feel dry and scratchy, not unlike my throat. I blink several times, coughing as I regain consciousness, my dry throat screaming in protest.

I press my palms to the ground, awkwardly pushing myself up. The rubble is sharp under my skin, but I ignore it._ I don't care, remember?_ The first thing I do is to look for the figure, the silhouette. I'm not sure why, it just seems to be the only thing important to me right now. But whoever they were, wherever they came from, they're gone. I resist the urge to sigh, and shift my eyes to my surroundings. After some further searching, I finally realise that I'm still lying in the exact spot I fainted. I mutter something incoherent under my breath, rolling my shoulders back to try and relive the dead-weight feeling.

"Amy!" I wince at the sheer volume of their cry, pushing myself further into an upright position. I bite down on my lip, trying to ignore the pain as my head throbs wildly. They rush to my side and I refuse to look in their eyes. She touches my shoulder tentatively, trying to gain eye contact. I look away. "You fainted." She says softly, her tone pitying, worried.

_You'd think I know that, right_? I just bob my head, shifting uncomfortably once again on my hands. Lou's brain suddenly starts to work again, much to my surprise. "Oh, let- let me help you up." I am _this_ far away from rolling my eyes. She hurries to her feet, stumbling back a few steps before stabling herself. I flinch as she lays her hand on my arm, quick to remove it at my reaction. Staring at the ground, mildly fascinated by the yellow smoke billowing from the rubble, I move my legs underneath me and plant my foot on the ground. I take a deep breath and pull myself up. Lou stands to my right, watching me anxiously the entire time. I shift uncomfortably under her gaze. _It's rude to stare, you know_. I grit my teeth, swallowing back my words. She's only worried, that's all.

She lifts her arm hesitantly before dropping it as an afterthought. I continue to stare into space, limping forwards a few steps. I stumble briefly before steadying myself and starting again. Lou watches me as I walk towards the entrance of the round pen, resisting the urge to lift my eyes and search for the jet black gelding. Something flashes in my mind, but I push it away, I can't think about that. Not now. Not ever.

We reach the gate and I pause, staring at nothing as Lou pushes through. She holds it open for me, still watching as I hobble through. My legs still feel like dead weights, heavy and clunky to move. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lou bite down on her lip, wringing her hands together, anxious.

We finally reach the gate, and I shuffle down the little path, my legs beginning to regain feeling. We reach the small collection of steps and Lou hovers, fidgeting, not really knowing what to say. She glances at me, then the steps, before back to me again. I shake my head a little, pushing myself forward, lifting one leg...

"Amy!" She rushes to my side, touching my arm again.

I flinch. "_I'm fine_." I grit my teeth, _why doesn't she get that?_ _I am perfectly capable of climbing a set of five steps. _I push forward once again, even more determined as a result of her over-worrying. I plant my foot on the step and haul myself up. One down, four to go. I lift the other leg, shifting my weight before it's firmly positioned on the step. I slip, falling to my hands and knees. I groan inwardly, not wanting Lou to hear. She rushes to my service once again but I shrug it off. "I said_ I'm fine_." I argue, my hands balling into fists.

She steps back, and I pull myself to my feet. I try again, and am fortunately successful this time. I breathe a sigh of relief and watch as Lou hurries forward to open the door. I hobble through, trailing my finger over the wall as I walk in. It's textured, material like. I don't bother to look; I know it's the window curtains. This _is_ my house, after all. Well, at least it used to be.

As I enter the kitchen, my eyes pinned to the worn wooden flooring and the fraying edges of the rug, I take deep breaths, focus on unclenching my balled fists and try to clear my head. Grandpa and Mallory are hovering around the table – I know this, not because I look up to see them, but because of their shoes; Grandpa's old cowboy boots, frayed and torn at the edges, and Mallory's trainers, peeking out under her jeans, bright pink and just plain Mallory. Grandpa's fidgeting, his feet twitching anxiously. Lou clears her throat – why, is a mystery to me. I pause for a second, and continue to stare at nothing before pivoting on my feet and walking stiffly out the room. I hear them call, but as always, I ignore them. _I don't care. I don't care._

The same image flashes in my mind, sharp and clear, like HD TV. I try to push past it, but it's impossible. I shake my head. I blink. I try everything I can to free myself of the image. But nothing works, and it's stuck. And for awhile I can't see anything else.

I finally reach my room, and push through the door, slamming it shut behind me. It's silent, muted, just a tiny _thud_ as it closes. I walk subconsciously over to the window seat, unthinking as I climb up onto the small cushion. I curl my legs up underneath me and hug my knees, staring idly out the window. I let my head lull back against the wall, resting my chin in the crook of my knees. The image is still there, pin-sharp as ever. I bite down on my bottom lip, thoughts racing through my head. After a moment, I shift the cushion beside me and reach for the tattered sketch book hidden behind the worn material. Resting it carefully on my knees, I turn to the window, scanning the scene before me. I take a deep breath and start to draw.

I'm not sketching the yard, or the horses, the stable block or the barn. No, I'm capturing something much more beautiful. Something I can never erase from my memory; it's engraved, etched inside my mind like a delicate painting. I'll never sell my painting; this is mine - my little fragment of hope - my** shining star** in the night sky.

* * *

Lou Fleming's review of this chapter: _I miss you, Mom..._


	7. Numb

-|**I Don't Smile** _continues_ |-

**I rub **my thumb gently over the soft paper, deep in thought as I gaze down at the sketch. A strand of hair falls over my eyes, breaking me from reverie. My head snaps up and I pause for a moment as my eyes dart to the scene past the window.

The smart side of my subconscious tugs at my thoughts and I sigh, heaving my legs off the window seat, padding silently across the room. Reaching for my pajamas, I undress and pull them on. As I trudge over to my bed, I catch myself in the mirror, not at all surprised at what I see. My eyes are dull and lifeless, and my usually tanned skin is ghostly pale, drawn with exhaustion. I may be home, but I'm still ill.

I climb under the covers, feeling empty. Another day... another chance_...gone_.

-:-

Everyday seems the same. I'm quickly falling into a pattern. A dull, repetitive, pattern, with no change, no life. A mere routine I follow every second of everyday.

My thoughts, though, are never the same. Always whirling, always a frenzy in my mind. They bounce off the walls I have built around me, pounding my head, blow after blow until I cannot take it anymore, and I sigh in defeat, sinking submissively to the floor, my resolve crumbling like an ancient wall, tumbling in a mass of bricks and mortar, leaving only a pile of ruins behind.

That is my life now. My mere existence.

My mother had always encouraged me to set goals, to achieve and to be proud. I no longer do this. Not now, not ever.

No goals, no achievement, no pride. Just a lifeless, dull, unnecessary existence.

-:-

Like before, the water bucket clashed to ground, breaking free of my grip with a deafening _thud._ My face remains blank, and I simply reach for the bucket. I have no time to feel, no time to dwell. I let grief consume me now. It's all I ever am.

My messy hair scrunched up in a disorderly bun, my dull grey eyes, once brimming with life, dead. My skin alabaster, no longer tanned and healthy. My lips are cracked, but I seize to care. There are bags under my eyes, and dark purple circles to frame them. I look terrible - ugly. But I don't care.

I've been working in the same stall for at least half an hour now, way exceeding the time needed to muck out the small ramshackle box. I'm thinking, shoveling like a robot.

"Amy?"

The stall door clicks open and my eyesremain pinned to the ground, now bare.

"You work too hard," they sigh, "too hard."

I turn sharply, continuing

with my unnecessary shoveling.

"Please rest," they try again.

My shovel grates painfully against the hard floor, screeching.

"Please," they persist.

"No." I whisper quietly, too quietly.

"Amy, please?" they sigh.

"No," I say louder this time, but still, it remains barely a whisper.

"You're so tired," they say softly, unaware of my answer.

"No," I say sharply. It's loud enough this time.

They blink and I turn.

I hear the stall door click shut before a faint whisper echos hauntingly in my ears, having just left their lips.

"You would have killed Mom acting like this."

It's silent for a long moment as my mind processes her short few words. With a tired sigh, I heave the wheelbarrow off the ground, blinking back the single traitor tear already running a feverish trail down my cheek.

"I already have," I say, my words barely audible in the hailing wind. But I can hear them, and I know she does too.

She stops in her tracks and her breathing sharp and quick. I watch as her hands curl into fists, and she struggles to calm her breathing.

"Just so you know," she starts, her back facing me. "You are killing me too." And with that, she walks out, leaving me frozen, gasping for air.

The dull ache in my head increases to a loud, harsh, pounding, and I find myself running and tripping all the way into the forest. Screaming and raging...

No one comes this time, and I'm left alone, cold and shivering.

I remain motionless though, I deserve it. I deserve everything.

Even when the lightning cracks and the thunder sounds around me, I do not move. I deserve that too.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I whisper, but my words have barely left my lips before theyare whipped away by the wind.

I didn't deserve her either.

-:-

I'm still here many hours later, now drenched and numb from the cold. I don't even hear the shouts around me as night falls and I slip into unconsciousness.

And even now, as I lay once again in a cold white hospital bed, even those beautiful green eyes can no longer lull me to sleep. No matter how beautiful they once were.

And why, you ask? Because whoever they were before has failed to save me, and once again, I am alone.

**Numb**_._

* * *

Her mysterious saviour's review on this chapter: _I'm so sorry..._


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